All I Do is Play Tetris, Solitaire, and Write
by Zima Zimavich
Summary: Just a bunch of RusAme drabbles and oneshots. Ahh...their relationship varies; either strangers, super-together, kind of together, friends, whatever. (It's just a bunch of dumb.)
1. Liar

**A/N: **Hey this is dumb but I thought I'd make a little place to shove my little RusAme drabbles and oneshots and stuff. If, um, if you want (and this is probably selfish and vain of me to think), you can use any ideas/stories/whatever you find here and use them for your own thing. Just don't, like, _steal_ them or something. You know. Say something like "inspired by"? What I think I'm getting at is PLEASE DON'T THINK "AW DARN IT THAT IDEA WAS ALREADY USED WELP NOW I'VE GOTTA THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE" because you don't really it's okay.

NOPE NOPE NOPE I'M SORRY THIS IS DUMB NEVERMIND I don't know what I'm trying to say.

* * *

He overhears others speaking. "No more Russians," they say, "they'll send any more back." That is fine, he thinks, he will be Polish. As much as it hurts to deny his countrymen and ancestors, he needs to get in. If not for himself, then for his sisters, still stuck oh the other side of the world, at home.

This is his new home, he reminds himself. For now.

He is pushed forward, and stares at the man behind the counter. "Name." The man says.

"Ivan..."

The man glares at him."Are you sure?"

"Braginski. With an 'i'. I am Polish."

The man rolls his eyes. "I'm sure," he says, but lets him in anyway. he must remember he is _Polish_ now, at least for a little while, and remember to spell his name 'right', as much as it hurts him to go against the old country.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah another. That was painfully short I'm sorry. I wrote in between classes one day because my Lit&Society class was about Immigration to America. It was so _inspiring_ (I guess), and I wanted to write a whole bunch for it. ...And then I didn't. This was supposed to be a way bigger thing with a bunch of guys coming in from different places (like there was supposed to be a China-thing where he came in to California) and going through TROUBLES and meeting up and surviving this big bad new scary country together? It would have been at the turn of the century in the late 1800s or early 1900s or something (because that time is just wonderful especially in regards to new immigrants oh my gosh).


	2. Superheroes

Ivan stands in line, waiting to go in. He is wearing – no, he will not think about what he is (or isn't) wearing. He _knows_ it is unflattering: there is far too much red and yellow and _not enough fabric_ –

He does not have the _body_ of a superhero.

But _she_ – she does.

She stands by a pillar, wearing a practical (as far as superhero costumes go) fem!Captain America. The tailored outfit outlines her muscles, shows off her curves, her fire-y blonde hair, blue eyes – it's not merely a costume. She _is_ Captain America.

She is, he decides, an Amazon. Tall, strong, beautiful. She must be.

Her eyes meet his, and before he can duck out of the way (away, outside, the bathroom, _anywhere_) she is in his face, talking, smiling at _him_.

"Howdy!" She greets, and it sends a million bugs straight to his head – buzzing, he can't concentrate on words or hear anything and his English is falling away her eyes are so _dazzling_

He smiles because it's what he's been taught to do in these situations. (What would he say, anyway?)

"Who're you supposed to be?" She asked.

"Iv-" and he catches himself, _that's not what she asked_, but the word is already said and he can't have half a word dangling in midair, so he finishes, "-an".

The perfect female who came to _him_ smiles and says, "Isn't that a girl's name?" and "I'm Amelia!" and "It's great that your name is Ivan and you're the Soviet Savior. We could be great arch enemies!" Someone calls her name, and she is off with promises of seeing him later, "I'd love to hang out sometime!"

He has no time to explain how his costume is a joke, how it's the result of a lost bet, how his name _is not feminime at all_ and that Amelia is an old woman's name, that he'd much rather be her sidekick (or partner!)

But, _maybe_, maybe it's better this way. Now she thinks he's cool! It'd be a shame for her to find he's far from it.

She vanishes into a crowd of people, and he doesn't find her again.

* * *

**A/N: **Oops this was supposed to go a different way. It was also supposed to include the line "...and he cannot decide if he wants to punch her into a wall (but that's ungentlemanly!) or kiss her until her lips swell up to twice their normal size", but I think I daydreamed too much while writing and forgot what was supposed to happen. Oops.


	3. You Smell

The boy in the seat next to this one smells like a distillery. The scent of stale alcohol clings to his clothes as he unwraps a tuna sandwich and takes a sip of Coke.

In the middle of class.

He pointedly ignores the professor's glare and throat-clearing, instead opting to inform everyone within earshot _just how_ crazy his night was and how hungover he is now. He skipped his first class! Didn't shower! _Wild._

The man in _this_ seat (who smells like whatever soap is in the shower and laundry detergent, thank you very much) shifts away and tried breathing through his mouth so he won't _smell_ it, but then he can _taste_ it which is _even worse_ –

In the shifting, the man's leg bangs against the desk. He lets out a hiss, and the boy looks over and grins.

_Grins._ A thousand-watt, Hollywood smile, all fake and directed at him.

He smiles back shyly and writes the boy a note. Not in English, of course, that would be _far_ too easy. He slides the note to the boy, who _leers_ and says, "aw, thanks" as if he's some _child_, a puppy who did something _cute_, and obsessed fan to a celebrity, they bullied kid idolizing the basketball star –

The point of his pencil breaks, and then he crushes the whole thing. Lucky for him, the class ends and he walks briskly out the door, leaving both halves of the pencil behind.

That jock asshole can have them.

* * *

**A/N: **The other day this guy came into class and he stunk so I wrote this.


End file.
